Post by Deleted on Mar 29, 2013 7:50:39 GMT -6
There was only one thought that smothered Matt Slater's mind as he recovered from his battering at the hands of the Styles Mafia in Pittsburgh.
It was happening all over again.
It was just like what had occurred two years ago.
And just like what happened two years ago, there was going to be innumerable injuries, severe ramifications and a truck load of casualties.
There was no dispute now that history was repeating itself. Time was fast approaching a dreadful period where the egomaniacs would have complete domination of the show, leaving everyone else to starve away into oblivion. The only way they could survive was to bow down to their unruly masters, begging for the scraps they disposed of without care, existing in a barren wasteland where the richest of the poor thrived off the weaknesses of their adversaries ... and in some treacherous cases, even their friends and allies.
Yet there was hope on the horizon for those who desperately pleaded for salvation. An uprising had already taken place, a revolution crafted by a group of individuals who had one common aspiration: to bring justice and prosperity back to New Edge Wrestling. They were united in heart, united in spirit, united in passion; unified to bring down the catastrophic regime who had sworn to make everyone's lives a living hell.
The Styles Mafia were reaping all of the rewards. They were treating the roster like slaves, paying them a marginal sum of what they truly deserved.
With his strongest fears realized, that was something which Matt Slater could no longer accept.
As a self-proclaimed defender of the traditional aspects of professional wrestling, where men and women competitively settled their differences inside the squared circle without using politics and cheap means to steal the victory, Slater adorned his knightly armour and pledged his allegiance to United. It was his time to raise the metaphorical sword and declare war against the gluttonous, tyrannical faction, protecting the innocent from further harm with his supportive shield. Alongside Scarlet, Al Envy, Ryan Omega, Kronin and Dixie Clement, they would prevent the Styles Mafia from taking everything away from those who deserved their cherished accolades, resurrecting equality and fairness in a sport that had been tarnished by insatiable egos with a chip on each of their chiselled shoulders.
At least, that was what Slater hoped to accomplish ... if he could keep his head on straight.
Sadly, there was something which Slater had kept disguised and expertly hidden on Sunday.
His depression had resurfaced again.
It was a challenge for him to come out to the ring on Ignite to address the state of the organization, courageously standing firm for what he proudly believed in. For the better part of the previous week, Slater had been confined to his hotel room, unwilling to explore the city, unwilling to partake in anything pleasurable or stimulating. He still exercised frequently, but his schedule had been all over the place.
When he was affected by insomnia, he worked out in his room.
When he didn't want to condition his body, he stayed in bed.
He hardly ate, he hardly slept, and he hardly spoke a word throughout those uneventful days. His communication skills plummeted to the point where even Falcon found it impossible to get some kind of mumbled utterance out of him. No matter how stupid or annoying Falcon got, intentional or otherwise, Slater didn't seem bothered or enthused by the older Brit's behaviour.
So what had caused this to happen? Was the psychological culprit Jesse Styles, a man who had recently abused his power to supposedly dethrone Colt with an impromptu wrestling match and declare himself the NEW World Heavyweight Champion? Was it because Johnny Stylez had struck him with a shovel after he had qualified for the Terrordome at Kamikaze? Or was it from everything already questioned and more?
Strangely, it had not been the current tenures of the wrestling business which had caused this negative relapse.
A simple visitation in Cincinnati had been to blame, but it was a visitation that Slater would not soon forget.
"That ... isn't possible..."
Slater was frozen in a state of shock. His head throbbed. His eyes burned. His chest pounded with despair, yet there was a fragment of disbelief that existed in his mind.
Tyler couldn't be dead. He just couldn't have been.
A few moments earlier, Slater had been informed of the disturbing truth. His leisurely activities had been interrupted by the presence of a detective and an accompanying police officer. They both appeared stoic as Slater politely welcomed them in. They both understood the concerning brevity of what they were about to reveal, something which Slater naturally questioned.
Once the details had been drearily summarized, Slater felt as though he had been punched in the chest by an iron fist.
Maybe they had made a mistake. Maybe the forensic evidence gathered at the crime scene wasn't a proper confirmation. From how they had described the horrific tragedy, Tyler had been mutilated beyond comprehension. He had been disfigured and torn to pieces, an image that Slater didn't want to fathom.
"We've been investigating Ms Janason's actions for some time..."
"She would never harm Tyler..." Slater interrupted, defending a woman who actually cared for her adopted son.
"Are you saying that she's innocent? His body was found in her hotel room."
"But ... that doesn't..."
Numbed by these revelations, Slater stumbled towards the main table of his luxurious suite. He managed to keep himself upright by leaning on the table, dealing with his frantic emotions as he stared morbidly at his pale reflection on the table's polished surface.
Why would Tyler have been killed? What did it mean?
Whoever had murdered Tyler in that sickening fashion ... there was a purpose behind their madness. There was a symbolic message behind their sadistic methods.
Cera would have been too distraught to think about it, and even Slater was having a hard time wondering why they had targeted Tyler, an innocent child who had done nothing wrong.
No child needed to die. No child needed to suffer through the circumstances of illness, either cancerous or otherwise.
Now he had been used as a warning symbol. He had been used for a game ... a sick, twisted game that Cera and Slater had no concrete knowledge of.
"What was your relation to the deceased?"
Slater tensed at the detective's utter disregard to mention Tyler by name; he illustrated the disrespectful erasure of identity, now referring to him as a medical afterthought.
"I wasn't related to him..."
"According to our records, you spent a lot of time with Ms Janason."
"We..." Slater began, having trouble concentrating as he wiped his cold face with his hand. "We were Tag Team partners in wrestling ... and then we got together..."
"So you had a relationship with her?"
"Yes."
"Are you two still together?"
"No."
The quiet police officer wrote something down on his notebook, doing so as the detective nodded and surveyed the room.
"If you believe Ms Janason is innocent ... then who might have committed this act? Do you know anyone that has had some personal problems with her?"
"I don't know..." Slater truthfully replied. He knew that Cera had formed numerous rivalries with her callous tendencies in the past, but he couldn't think of who might stoop that low. Then again, he didn't even want to think about the situation anymore.
"Is there any more information you'd like to tell us which could help our investigation?"
With a defeated shrug, Slater silently confirmed his answer. The detective mumbled under his breath as the officer concluded writing down his notes for future reference.
"Well, thank you for your time, Mr Slater. If we uncover something regarding this incident, we'll be in touch."
Slater remained near the table as the two men exited the suite, closing the door behind them. Once the lock clicked into place, numerous thoughts swarmed forth like a blackening plague, exposing Slater to the effects of paranoia and sorrow.
Were they genuine officers of the law? Their badges and identification cards appeared legitimate. Their mannerisms and procedures were not out of the ordinary for an individual who had graduated into that stressful career field. But Jesse Styles had enough money and resources to concoct a scheme such as this, diminishing Slater's confidence and determination.
If they were genuine, why had they questioned him? Perhaps their details were accurate. Perhaps they did know that Slater had spent time with Cera and Tyler during their partnership. But even so, he wasn't spying on Cera's endeavours. It could have been anyone with a bitter vendetta to soothe maliciously, anyone with a mindset more twisted and vicious than hers.
Slater was running through names like lightning, and none of them clicked.
But if it wasn't anyone else ... did that leave Cera herself as the villain behind this tragedy?
He didn't believe that. He couldn't comprehend that being true.
Nothing made sense to him now. Absolutely nothing.
But he needed to say something. He needed to share his feelings.
Feeling the urge to contact Cera for the first time in over six months, Slater collected his phone as he exhaled heavily, dealing with a headache as he browsed through the saved numbers.
There would be no pain etched on her face; no visible signs of despair or sorrow. She would likely reserve her mournful agony, forwarding a state of mysterious normalcy. The reliance of alcohol would unfold, easing her woes temporarily until bitterness and loathing enslaved her observational judgement. Then ... there would be hysteria.
Wicked, immeasurable hysteria.
Finding her name, Slater accessed her profile and selected the computerized command of sending a text message. With a blank white screen being his canvas, Slater hovered over the keys that would put his letters into words ... words that would unearth a possible reconciliation between the two.
But there was one problem. She wouldn't accept what he had to say. In fact, it was likely she would hate him even more and somehow put some blame on him for Tyler's demise.
She would blame a man that had saved Tyler once before from a criminal ... risking his own life for the safety and development of a child that Cera held dear ... all because she didn't trust him ... all because he supposedly abandoned her, when in reality that wasn't the case.
He pitied her. As much as she hated being seen as worthless, he felt that at this moment she truly was. She didn't deserve this act of malice to fall upon her unstable conscience. Yet it seemed that with ambition, with every step in the right direction, she was deprived of those pieces which would compensate for her previous failures.
Wholesomeness beckoned, but her hunger could not be quenched.
Wholesomeness beckoned, but her hunger could not be quenched.
His grip on the phone increased. His emotional conflictions bred agonizing turmoil; he was resisting the urge to apologize for everything and to console her sadness with sympathy, yet he was also resisting the urge to type in his feelings, sending her a text-based speech of condolence that would create more havoc than peace.
Torn between guilt and outrage, Slater flung his phone across the room, ignoring the sound of the device hitting the wall.
He couldn't do it.
He simply couldn't convey his emotions in written form.
Falling into a pit of regression, Slater slumped down onto his chair, tired, worn and defeated.
"Fucking Koreans. They always want to blow something up."
Focusing on the large screen in front of him, Slater continued to watch Olympus Has Fallen from the highest row of the darkened cinema. The benefit of Slater being in a darkened theatre meant that no one would disturb him persistently, but he did have to deal with several fans before the film started. The cinematography and special effects weren't that impressive, but the story seemed to keep everyone's interests, particularly due to the talented actors and actresses that were in the film; Gerard Butler, Morgan Freeman, Aaron Eckhart, just to name a few.
Slater agreed that the movie he and Falcon were watching personified the true conflicts between the United States and North Korea, but he disagreed with Falcon's subjectively-racist point of view. Rumoured reports of a nuclear war taking place had grown feverishly over the past couple of months, but that's all they were. He didn't want to get into a political debate about these international issues though. He just wanted to watch the film, one that Falcon had chosen because it was filled with explosions.
However, it wasn't exactly helping him with his depression, and it wasn't helping him to take his mind off New Edge Wrestling for one day either.
He still remembered Jesse Styles announcing his match like it was yesterday. He would have to contend with Hazard; a man he had never faced, a man that could easily destroy him with his power and immoral actions. If that wasn't bad enough, it would take place inside a Steel Cage, increasing the danger of Slater's welfare.
He might have taken shovel shots from Johnny, he might have taken a devastating spear from Ray Andrews, he might have taken a bone-crushing Thirteenth Floor from Hazard, but those were nothing compared to what the towering, monstrous member of the Styles Mafia would unleash in the Nassau Coliseum.
Slater had witnessed Aiden Vaughn's hospitalization at the hands of Hazard, capped off with him taking a page out of Pugh's book and launching Vaughn off the stage towards damnation. That would be nothing compared to what Hazard would do to gain the advantage against the noble wrestler.
With the enigmatic addition of Hazard's old mask, something that Hazard had wanted to rid himself of for a variety of reasons, it was a pre-determined notion that Slater wouldn't survive.
Survival was what he needed for the Terrordome. Now it would take fortunate luck for him to even enter that structure at Kamikaze.
"Are you paying attention?"
Falcon said this whilst cramming a handful of buttered popcorn into his mouth. Several kernels fell onto the sticky floor as Slater murmured responsively.
"Sort of..."
"Sort of?!"
Someone a few rows down went "shh", overhearing Falcon's loud voice.
"You're the one that agreed to go out..." Falcon whispered. "I'm sick and tired of seeing you be a mopey git."
Slater shrugged dismissively. He internally admitted that his mood was wearisome and irritable, but it was difficult for him to concentrate on remaining positive, especially with what was at stake.
"Ever since you found out about Tyler, you've been a hermit. And even before then, you were concerned about Vanessa after her blackout. All you do is stay in bed, talk briefly on the phone and train in your room. The only time you've acted like you should was on Ignite when you sided with United."
"I needed to get some things off my chest..." Slater mumbled.
"What I want to know is ... did you talk with Scarlet beforehand about joining them?"
"Over the phone..." Slater answered.
"... Okay, and?"
Slater sighed morosely. Falcon always had to be complicated; first he persuaded Slater to watch this film with him, and now he wanted to discuss things that were going on in New Edge Wrestling. He couldn't multi-task. He either had to ignore Falcon and watch the film, or he had to listen to Falcon and miss some essential plot developments that would confuse him later on by not paying attention.
"What else do you want me to say?" Slater questioned.
"Why did she want you to join?"
"Because I agreed with her?"
"But you were already part of the Court?"
"Don't assume I left them like everyone else..." Slater sighed, ending their exchange of questions which were both legitimate and rhetorical. "It's a misconception. I'm supporting United ... but I'm still with the Court."
"Have you spoken to anyone else?"
"Al Envy. He wants me to go somewhere with him tomorrow."
"That should be fun."
"Maybe..." Slater concluded, albeit pessimistically. If he knew Envy, he'd probably drag him to a strip club to ease his discomfort. There was nothing wrong with nudity, but Slater didn't fancy going around scantily-clad women who danced around poles, flaunting their enhanced assets for dirty money. It wasn't his kind of entertainment.
"No wonder people say I'm boring..." Slater mumbled under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing..." Slater denied, not wanting to let Falcon in on the details. They both concentrated on the film again, where Morgan Freeman had made an appearance, acting as the President after being promoted from Speaker of the House.
"Morgan Freeman makes a better president than Barack Obama!"
Falcon's comment regarding the current President of the United States was met with an audible "shh" from the same disgruntled viewer that had had instructed him to shut up earlier on, causing Falcon to simmer and whisper grouchily under his breath.
"I swear I will Falcon Punch you so fucking hard..."
At that moment, Falcon's eyes lit up with a realization. He then alerted Slater by prodding him in the shoulder, causing Slater to wince.
"That's what you could do to Hazard inside the Steel Cage!"
"Hmm?"
"You could give him the Falcon Punch. I hear he has a bad heart, even after surgery."
Beaming arrogantly at his move being used by Slater, Falcon waited for his companion's response.
"Hmm..." Slater murmured again. He didn't really want to get into this discussion.
"Oh come on!" Falcon pleaded. "Take the stance, aim it at his heart and pin him!"
"It wouldn't be that easy..." Slater replied, acknowledging Hazard's threshold for pain. "Besides, that would just be cheap."
"Oh I'm sorry. I forgot that you had to be "noble"."
Falcon uttered these words sardonically, even using his fingers to form quotation marks as he said "noble".
"I mean how else are you going to beat him?"
"I'll find a way..."
"He's like a bloody caveman!" Falcon yelled, doing so with excessive loudness. "I mean think about it! He's the kind of guy that will whack you across the head with a stick, drag you back to his cave and have his way with you!"
After blinking a couple of times, Slater mulled over this information which had been disguised as a prehistoric insult.
"So your analogy ... if there is one ... is that he's going to destroy me inside that steel cage as an expression of dominant ownership ... and then relieve himself with my battered carcass?"
"... Probably?"
Slater shook his head, but in doing so, something else occurred to him ...something that had been crafted by his recurring paranoia and insecurity.
"You don't think I can survive, can you?"
"Now I never said that..." Falcon said, getting defensive.
"But do you?"
Pausing, Falcon rubbed his hands together anxiously, a common gesture that exposed his uncertainty.
"... Uhm ... well I mean ... I think..."
"So I'm right..." Slater declared.
"Hold on a bloody minute! I'm thinking!"
Giving Falcon ample time, Slater waited. About a minute later, Falcon offered a suggestion.
"You could always run away?"
Running away was a sign of cowardice, a feeble quality which Slater didn't want to formulate. Unfortunately, it seemed to be his only option.
There was no way he could give Hazard the Shockwave. His weight would crush Slater under his own body. Slater couldn't even lift Hazard for a suplex. He needed to utilize higher ground, but that wouldn't work well in his favour. Slater had struck Hazard with the Raining Shadows, but that merely stunned him. Making him submit was also out of the question.
In one instant, Slater's strengths had been cast away. It was smart to retreat, scaling the cage to avoid Hazard's brutality or running towards the door, but that completely criticized Slater's personality; not only as a knight, but also as a man.
Slater needed to find another way to beat Hazard; quickly and decisively.
"Or you could just get destroyed..." Falcon continued. "It's your choice."
"I said I'll find a way..." Slater replied again, repeating his earlier statement.
Being attracted by the story of Olympus Has Fallen again, Slater started to uncover certain similarities. He wasn't sure at first ... but as the movie progressed, his thoughts were clearer in accuracy.
"This film is reminding me too much of New Edge..." Slater confessed, having compared the story to the ongoing trials and tribulations that the company contained.
"Oh here we go," Falcon muttered, rolling his eyes.
"I figured you'd care to listen. I guess I was wrong."
After momentarily staring at Slater, Falcon removed the popcorn bucket from his lap and placed it on the vacant chair next to him.
"Okay, Mr Intelligent. I'm all ears."
"Think of the White House as New Edge Wrestling..." Slater began, painting the scene for Falcon. "It's in disarray. It's in chaos. The Koreans want to force the United States to abide by their commands. They want complete control."
"I'm with you so far..."
"The Koreans ... in my mind ... are the Styles Mafia. They want to force anyone who opposes their methods and beliefs into submission with catastrophic threats, using devastating acts to accomplish their goals."
"Still with you..."
"But from their perspective ... we're the Koreans."
There was no reaction from Falcon that time; not immediately anyway.
"Now you've lost me."
"They see United ... and those who support United ... as the terrorists. We're ruining their perfect world. We're the bad guys in their eyes, and they want to protect their devoted cause by any means necessary."
"Ah, I see..." Falcon complied, finally understanding Slater's viewpoint.
"But there's something else about this movie I find interesting..."
"Go on."
"It's a depiction of Hazard's youth."
Falcon went silent again.
"I can't say I'm surprised by your silent reaction."
"It would help if you explained the reason why."
Channelling the research he had done on Hazard, Slater adjusted his posture in his seat and sighed.
"Imagine being trapped like a prisoner by your parents ... unable to escape. Imagine wanting to break free from the chains that have enslaved you. Imagine being treated like a monster that no one would ever want to see, talk to ... or associate with. How would that make you feel?"
"I'd be pissed off!" Falcon replied, his voice elevating in the process.
"You'd hold a bitter grudge ... because you're different. You haven't been given the chance to live like an ordinary child ... because people think you're ... abnormal ... something that should not be of this earth. It's crossing racial boundaries ... but think of Hazard as those Korean terrorists. The United States have prevented them from doing as they please ... so they retaliated. Hazard retaliated. In doing so, he has caused pain and misery. He has turned innocent people into victims ... all because of that grudge against a society that abused and mistreated him."
"Jesus..." Falcon murmured. "But wait ... you said he was held hostage right?"
"Yes?"
"Well in this movie the Koreans are holding the Americans hostage, not letting them break free. So ... is he the good guy in that circumstance?"
Slater hadn't thought of things that way. Hazard was not what you would consider a good person by any stretch of the imagination. He had suffered in his youth, but it didn't make things right to ferociously get revenge and continue to act with malice.
"I suppose..." Slater answered. "But overall ... he's going to be trapped again. That steel cage is going to bring all of his darkest memories back ... and he's going to take it out on me."
"So Jesse Styles fucked up?"
"He didn't..." Slater disagreed. "If anything ... he did it on purpose. It's a mind game he's playing."
With that comment, Slater knew that there were more mind games being played. His head was already full of them.
And with a sudden burst of confidence, Slater realized that he just couldn't accept defeat.
"But I'm going to win."
"... What did you say?" Falcon said, mimicking disbelief.
"I'm going to prove Jesse Styles wrong, just like I have the past two times. I'm going to take Hazard on with courage and spirit. He might be a monster ... but I'm the knight in shining armour that will cure this oppressive time and bring fullness back to New Edge. They're not going to stop me from making things right. They're not going to stop me from surviving and ending this war of attrition ... just like in this movie."
"You be the Silver Knight, Matty boy, and you beat him to a pulp like the Americans will do to them bloody Koreans!"
"Will you be quiet?!" the man down below hollered. "I'm trying to watch this!"
"Well I'm talking!"
"Suck my dick and shut up!"
"That's it, you fucking wanker! I'm going to kick your arse!"
Standing up from his seat, Falcon lunged across the row of chairs, disappearing into the darkness of the cinema like a man falling from a building. Alarmed screams and uncomfortable grunts emanated from the area that Falcon had dived into, being followed by sounds of a physical skirmish. Not even the explosions of the film running on the gigantic screen could surpass the intensity of what was occurring below Slater's irritated position. Bereft of care, Slater also departed his seat with a disappointed expression on his face, deciding to spend some alone time as he exited the screening of Olympus Has Fallen. As he made his way to the exit doors, the ruckus that Falcon had created increased, most notably due to his blind incompetence.
"I've hit the wrong bloody bloke!"
"Come here, ya limey fuck!"
"I can't see shit!"
The heavy collision of Falcon's body hitting the now empty chairs faded away as Slater closed the doors behind him, drowning out the sounds of the fight that would likely get Falcon into some serious trouble.
He didn't know if these mind games would seize, breaking him from within and ruining all of the work he had accomplished thus far since his ascension from mediocrity, but he knew that he would face them head-on.
He thought of Vanessa. He thought of Tyler. He thought of Cera. He thought of United. But most of all, he thought about New Edge Wrestling's future, about how he could repair its broken values ... about how he could bring satisfying prominence to a company that needed saving from a group of terrorists.
He thought of Vanessa. He thought of Tyler. He thought of Cera. He thought of United. But most of all, he thought about New Edge Wrestling's future, about how he could repair its broken values ... about how he could bring satisfying prominence to a company that needed saving from a group of terrorists.
It was time for him to go to war, and like a true soldier, like the "Silver Knight" he had entrusted himself to be, Slater would wear his armour and United emblem with pride, exhibiting the colours that would soon bring vibrant clarity and ambience to this grim, dark world that the Styles Mafia aggressively controlled.